


Spiced

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's your name, girl?"<br/> "S-Sansa. Stark, Ser."<br/> "I'm Ser Jaime Lannister.  But everybody calls me Kingslayer.  How old are you, Sansa?"  <br/>"Twelve. Thirteen once four moons turn."  "Old enough for kisses."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiced

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much every Jaime/Sansa fic that I write features a Sansa who would be considered underage by today's standards. I'm distinguishing this as an "underage" fic because Sansa is twelve, which would be considered very young even by the standards of the world of ASOIAF.

He passes her the mug of spiced ale, catlike eyes glittering as he watches her take a sip. She hiccups almost immediately- she's only tasted ale once, that night two moons past when she and Jeyne sneaked into the cellars. She'd hiccuped then too, her body trembling with the wickedness of it all, and Jeyne silenced her with a kiss, soft lips tasting of spices and liquor and something delicious and forbidden.   
  
Ser Jaime takes the mug from her and places it on the table at his side. His other hand reaches out, fingers combing through her loose auburn hair. "You  _are_  a beauty, aren't you?"   
  
Sansa feels a swelling of pride in her chest, just as she had the evening before, when the Queen offered her the same praise. Her cheeks burn with a faint blush, and Ser Jaime laughs.   
  
"Even prettier when you blush. And only twelve years old..." He shakes his head and takes another drink of ale before releasing a low, long whistle. "You'll be dangerous in a year or two."    
  
"I-I'll be a woman wed in a year or two, Ser," she murmurs, and he laughs again, but there's a sharpness to the sound this time.   
  
"Aye, that's right, little niece. The Prince is a lucky lad."   
  
Her blush deepens, and Ser Jaime's emerald eyes seem to darken a shade when he pats his knee and smiles at her.   
  
"Come here, pet."   
  
And she shouldn't, she  _knows_  she shouldn't. But it all feels exciting and naughty, just as it felt to kiss Jeyne in the cellars...her gaze shifts from his eyes to his lips, and her breath hitches in her throat.    
  
She lets him take her hand and draw her forward, and she perches herself on his lap.   
  
"Twelve years old, nearly a lady grown." Ser Jaime draws his arm around her and drops his volume to a whisper. "Has anyone ever kissed you, pretty girl?"   
  
She nods, and as the corners of her mouth twitch with anticipation, she thinks for a moment of how  _jealous_  Jeyne would be- Jeyne, who'd spent the whole week mooning over the knights of the Kingsguard, who'd waxed poetic for over an hour about Jaime Lannister, the handsomest man in the Kingdoms...   
  
Suddenly, Ser Jaime pulls her face close and presses his lips to hers, and her hiccups stop at once. It's spices and liquor and something delicious and forbidden- a pulse throbs between her legs, and now her mouth moves beneath his-   
  
But then she remembers herself, and she pulls away. She begins to sputter half-hearted protestations as she tries to slide from his lap, but he holds her fast. And he's so strong and so beautiful and it tasted so  _wonderful_ ...   
  
He speaks in a soft purr, and she feels the twinge between her legs once more. "It's your turn now."    
  
The air leaves her lungs in an incredulous burst, and she fears that she will dissolve into a fit of giggles. But he only watches her, green eyes unblinking, and traces his thumb beneath her lower lip.   
  
"Pretend I'm Joff, if you like. I dare say we're enough alike that it wouldn't be difficult." A hard, bitter edge creeps into his tone, and she's nearly frightened for a moment.    
  
But then it's his hand in her hair, the aroma of the ale on his breath. She leans in and gives him just a peck, but he shakes his head and tugs her tresses until she squeals.   
  
"Is that how Jonquil would kiss Florian? Use your imagination, girl."   
  
She does try to imagine him as Joff at first, but she quickly realizes that there is no need. It's so much more fun to call up Jeyne's face in her mind, to imagine the incredible envy in the other girl's brown eyes, were she to come upon Sansa entwined in Jaime Lannister's arms. A pleasurable chill courses up and down her back, and she winds her fingers in Ser Jaime's beautiful golden hair- " _Gods, Sansa, his hair is like spun gold...I just want to feel it in my hands, I want to pull on it..._ "   
  
She can taste the lightest hint of the spiced ale, but she wants more- before she knows it, her tongue pushes into his mouth, and it's wicked and delicious and twelve years old is almost a grown up lady and this is how Jonquil would kiss Florian-   
  
When Ser Jaime pulls away to take a breath, he kisses along her cheekbone and whispers in her ear,   
  
"I knew it. Pretty girl with pretty manners, but you're just a little wolf bitch underneath it all, aren't you? A little wolf bitch in heat."   
  
And she pushes away, leaping from his lap and turning her face so that he won't see the hideous burn of red flooding her cheeks. A cold pall of shame settles in her stomach-  _oh Gods, what have I done? What if he tells Joffrey or the Queen or the King....or Mother, or Father..._   
  
She spins on her heel and flees down the corridor (she can hear Ser Jaime's laughter, it follows her down the hall), praying all the while, swearing to the old gods and the new that she will never, ever do anything naughty or wicked (or delicious) again.


End file.
